Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes

My youngest sings in the shower. He sings the most unusual songs for a kid his age...his latest favorite is a tune written and composed by Jonathon Larson from the Broadway musical Rent, Seasons of Love. He sings in a sort of rich but high pitched falsetto and with great enthusiasm. The entire exercise is quite comical as he's an athletically built football jock who has a very endearing personality. You just can't help but love this kid.


One day this week he was still singing walking up the hall, towel around his waist, and I stopped and listened ...


Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year....



In daylight, in sunsets, in midnights,
in cups of coffee, In inches, in miles
in laughter in strife,


I have been thinking about that song all week. My birthday was this weekend and the step toward measuring a year in my life was an easy one to take. All last year I was full of angst over the many things that were wrong in my life and at the same time trying to enjoy the incredible joys that were taking place. I was all over the place emotionally and trying so hard to nail it all down and not let anyone see me sweat . Everything was out of balance and I couldn't stand it. Nothing seemed to be under my control and I felt helpless and insignificant. I lost so much, had so many things taken from me that I was filled with so much anger and bewilderment some days and deep and abiding joy the next. I've never felt more unlike myself. I have never been more thrown off and ungrounded in my entire life.


I realize now that in my own self absorption I neglected to see the compete picture, I failed to see what it was that made what I went through bearable. I failed to see what carried me along and kept me in check some days. I failed to see what I have and have had all along, deep in lockstep with me, as I traveled the road that is my life. I failed to see those incredibly special parts of my life who, both near and far, walked the road by my side.


So on this birthday, how do I measure a year, measure my year? In people. In friendship, in kindness, in care, in encouragement. In tenderness, in whispers, in touches and in love. I can measure my year in this life in the things given to me, in the things done for me and in the things I carry with me now. The gifts I was given by sweet and dear friends, picked me up and carried me on days that I stumbled. They calmed me, made be feel stronger and amazingly sometimes even made me laugh at myself for having to admit I was faltering at all.


I just may start singing in the shower myself'....


Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year....

Its time now to sing out though the story never ends
lets celebrate remember a year in the life of friends...

Indeed

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AZ-4ikcohCs

Beautiful Minds

A Beautiful Mind is an Academy Award winning film loosely based on the life of Professor John Nash, mathematical genius and Nobel Laureate in Economics in 1994.



ABM is an extraordinary love story, one that I have had an affection for since I saw it for the first time and every other time after that. It's difficult sometimes to conjure romantic images of a brainy mathematical wonk and a lovely and similarly brilliant woman but John and Alicia Nash’s love story is by far, to me, one of the most beautiful I've ever encountered.


John Nash is a mathematical genius who suffers from schizophrenia and whose story I’ll not trivialize in the little space I have available to tell it. Rent the film, read his biography, he’s an incredible human being.


Schizophrenia causes John Nash to see and hear people who aren't there. He sometimes can’t distinguish between real people and those imaginary ones his mind has created. His self described delusions put his family in danger and at a point, where he was incapable of any differentiation between his real and imagined worlds, his wife had to make a decision whether or not to permanently commit John to an institution .

At their most desperate moment, when they stood at the edge of their own personal abyss, Alicia and John face each other and he asks her...How do I know what's real?

Alicia whispers with amazingly loving conviction, You want to know what's real? This is..... as she places her hand on John's heart. Then she takes his hand and gently places it on her face. Looking deeply into his eyes, so very softly she says....This is real. This, is real.”

Such a profound moment. Alicia, in the madness that surrounds her and envelopes John, manages to disconnect him from all of the noise his world has become. Stopping time for a moment, she is able to show him the only part of his world that is real. Despite the danger and frustration and burden of living with John’s schizophrenia, Alicia chooses to believe in their love rather than logic. She fully understands the impossibility at that time of overcoming a mental illness such as John's...but she looks past conventional wisdom and medical opinion and believes that together they can find their own solution similarly extraordinary as those mathematical equations that John’s beautiful mind had discovered. While John and Alicia Nash lived an unconventional and complicated life, their love remained longlasting.

I've always thought of that moment in film to define the truest and simplest example of love. Real love. I like to think about having such a belief in love over logic. I like to think about what it is to have such conviction and belief in something that for most doesn't exist. I like to think about conventional wisdom and extraordinary equations. I like to think about slipping into a place of quiet peace amidst life's chaos and asking, How do I know what's real?

I also like to think about not really needing to hear a reply because I already know.

I already know.
Indeed.

A View From The Clouds

"Get your head out of the clouds!"

Sister Mary Leocadia had occasion to bark that command to me repeatedly when I was her student in the 7th grade. I was a dreamer in her estimation and her mission, it seemed, was to bring me back down to where she thought I belonged.

Sister Leocadia was a no-nonsense, hard-nose, brass tacks kind of woman. I suppose my perceived dreaminess was a source of irritation to her. My propensity to see the possibility in all things grated on her nerves such that she availed herself of any opportunity to knock me back to reality... or rather hers.

The funny thing is that I am very much a realist and always have been. I always will be. It's my nature combined with an upbringing rooted in practicality. My parents didn't so much spin Fairy Tales for me growing up. They always presented the truth to me but in the gentlest of terms and with comfort. I was taught to face situations, accept news head on and squarely and to accept these situations with grace. I learned to see things as they were but I could also imagine what they could be. I learned to not just see endpoints but to see room. Room for possibility. This gift has turned out to be one of my greatest strengths at this stage of my life.

That grace to accept situations is a godsend. For even in news we don't want, in situations we would rather have be different, have them be more of what we'd hoped for, that grace lifts me. It lifts me all the way up into where Sister Leocadia saw as the clouds. But you see my feet are always planted firmly in reality, with my head and my heart residing above it all... seeing the possibilities. The possibilities I believe to be there.

Guess what Sister Leocadia...you may think my head is still in the clouds ... but you know what... I think the view is pretty great from up here.

Indeed.

Bright Baby Blues

"I'm sitting down by the highway...Down by that highway side...Everybody's going somewhere...Riding just as fast as they can ride"

Those are the opening lines to one of my favorite songs by Jackson Browne, Your Bright Baby Blues, from the album, The Pretender released in 1976. Last night I went to see Jackson Browne perform with one of my oldest and dearest friends.

The performance was outdoors. The night was beautiful, warm and clear, and our seats were good ones. We'd had some wine and were feeling mellow and talkative. Our conversation was deeply personal as it usually is when we get together. We've been together as friends a long, long time.

Midway through the show I hear the first chords of the intro to this song that I like so much. I know it well. I turn to her and tell her it's my favorite. She knows this already and she knows why as I've told her before. Her hand goes to my arm and squeezes. She knows.

The song is part of my past and it connects me in a very nostalgic way to someone I used to know. Someone I used to love. Memory fades detail, time fades emotion but it's the prevailing reminiscence that still touches me pleasantly. I can close my eyes and hear him sing it to me:

...Baby if you can see me...Out across this wilderness...There's just one thing...I was hoping you might guess...Baby you can free me...All in the power of your sweet tenderness...

I don't make it a habit of looking back at the past, in fact I really never do. I certainly do not look back to that particular time and person. The past is behind me where it belongs, where it shall remain. My present is what I'm interested in, what I hold dear and those with me in it are who I care about. Still...that song makes my mind wander and drift. It drifted last night.

I can see it in your eyes....you've got those bright baby blues...You don't see what you've got to gain...But you don't like to lose...

My mind may have drifted but it didn't drift to what I had then, it drifted to what I have now. It didn't drift to what I was then, but to what I am now. It didn't drift to where I was then, but to where I am now. Right now.

My friend knew I wasn't thinking about the past. Her hand on my arm told me she's not looking back either. The song doesn't tell a story of my past, but of my future. It tells the story of what's ahead for me...or rather what I want for myself.

Like the songs says....I can't help feeling I'm just a day away...From where I want to be.

Where I want to be.

Indeed

The Measure of a Mother

This past year I have been immersed in my daughter's wedding planning. From the moment she became engaged, I was on my way. It started with the engagement party and the next ten months were filled with all manner of bustle and planning.

My daughter chose a destination wedding at a resort in the Caribbean. On top of the bridal shower I was hosting, helping her with her nuptial preparations for a wedding at a resort complete with 42 traveling family members and friends, I had to plan a major trip out of the country for my own household. It was a "to do".

All along the way, and when I would grouse or fuss about some detail, I would say...I have to get this right...it's my measure as a mother.

My measure as a mother. I felt it so important to pull off whatever I was responsible for with all of the grace and aplomb I could muster. Each undertaking, each decision was predicated on my notion of elegant perfection as it related to the bride. Simply stated...I wanted her to have the very best. My very best.

A lot was going on for me during those ten months. A lot of life was happening. I underwent a major and unexpected job change, a decision that was made for me and left me with no choice but to accept it all. I was dealing with my dad's illness and the toll it was taking on my mother. I was also suffering a lot of loss in my life, deep financial stress, my precious husband's increasing absences and practically raising a teenager by myself.

Then, a mere four weeks before the bridal shower my father passed away. It was a devastating blow and while the entire family struggled with the loss, it cut me to the heart in a very personal way. I lost my safe place.

In the days leading up to the shower I was frantic to be sure I had done my best, distracted and stressed, I kept myself in check by reminding myself...this is your measure as a mother. The same went for the time preceding the wedding. Each detail I helped with, each task given, I pushed all that was dragging at me out of mind and focused on giving her my best. Still I worried...had I done enough? Had I forgotten something important?

It wasn't until the morning of the wedding that I realized that I had done the best job any mother could ever do. Sometime during the night my daughter had slipped something under our door... a note addressed to me and one to her father. I sat on a chair near the open glass doors to the patio, warm Caribbean sun on my skin, the sounds and smells of the sand and surf for company and I read her beautiful words. Tears falling unabashed and uninhibited I read,

...When I was a little girl I wanted to be just like you. I saw that being smart and strong could make any dream come true.

And … I learned that my value in this world is more than looks and beauty...

And ...you showed me through example, the most valuable lesson, to always trust myself no matter what life may bring...

And finally … I will see you sitting and waiting for Dad to walk me down the aisle. I will realize that I am proud to be just like you as I hold you in my heart while all of my dreams come true.

That's my measure as a mother. Not the flawless planning, not themes and table arrangements, not perfect parties and happy guests. Not silly white Jordan almonds in white silk bags. My measure as a mother was realized in this wondrous creature who may not know it yet ... but is so much more than I will ever be in this life. For that I am most proud.

My measure as a mother indeed.

Go For It!

I had occasion recently to direct my husband toward something I wanted. We found ourselves at a jumping off point and he was hesitant and in my desire to have him move forward I simply said, "Go For It".

He didn't.

I've not had to push him like that in our life together. In fact our dynamic was such that he would be the one pushing and pulling me along as I was the one who hesitated and was unsure. Not this guy....he always went balls out, hair on fire and fast. It wasn't always a good thing, but it was "us".

I was happy to go along. Happy to be pushed a little. It helped me grow. It was exciting sometimes, scary and often delightful. I needed it.

Now, after all of these years, it's me pushing and pulling but he's not moving. It's me leading him as he hesitates at most everything and mostly stays right where he is. I'm struck by the shift in our dynamic, the reversal of our roles that we seemed so comfortable in. Perhaps comfort need not remain but continuity should. I can't help but see this role reversal as another way he's stopped growing, stopped moving forward. The only growth happening in our lives is mine.

So I stand at my own jumping off point, wanting to keep moving, wanting to push ahead and wanting to grow. Wanting to Go For It. I jump...but I don't know what comes next, don't know where I'll end up. It's not that I'm afraid. I just I hope it doesn't hurt like hell when I land.

Indeed.

When a Father Gives to His Daughter....

I read a wonderful piece in today's Sunday newspaper insert of Parade written by Harlan Coben. In a lovely, poignant tribute to his father, Mr Coben left me with tears and warm thoughts about my own dad.

I knew at some point today I would "go there". I was approaching Father's Day in a low key manner, subconsciously hoping to forget it altogether. In fact I did forget it as far as my father-in-law was concerned. I forgot to send him a card and for that I will apologize later this evening.

Mr Coben describes an emotional moment in his piece, a breakdown he has when he happens upon a long ago taken photograph of himself and his dad. He was just a small boy in the photo and his dad looked young, vital and full of life. His commentary so touching, especially so when he writes, " I would give anything to kiss that cheek just one more time." Having lost my own dad just three months ago...I would give anything for that one last kiss on his cheek as well.

I have a photo that I can't look at without welling up. It's one of a bunch of photos I have of my dad and me that I've been looking at often since he passed. Trying to reach back and feel something other than loss, I look at the photographs hoping to touch something. This one is of my dad walking me down the aisle on my wedding day. It's a personal moment for me, one I look at now with a twinge of regret. You see I didn't want my dad to escort me to the altar. At the time I was full of feminist notions and found the whole idea of being handed off from father to husband both archaic and insulting. I thought about walking down that aisle by myself as a show of independence. My dad left the decision to me and I chose tradition because I knew it meant something to him to have the honor of escorting his daughter to her marriage. How gracious of me.

What a fool I was and that's why regret pokes me when I look at that photo. My dad knew I didn't want to be escorted and I regret that he knew I even considered otherwise. For as much as that man had given me, I was willing to take something from him to satisfy my own pride. Sadly, it wasn't until he was gone that I felt that regret, regret I will feel from here on out. Regret I feel when I look at that photo. And rightfully so and I would give anything now to kiss his cheek and tell him that I am sorry. Sorry for being so foolish.

Back to Coben's piece in Parade. He ties it up almost perfectly by writing, "As the old proverb says, “When a father gives to his son, they both laugh. When a son gives to his father, they both cry.” Almost perfect because the proverb leaves something out. It's not just fathers and sons who give with laughter and tears. For you see ... a daughter, this daughter, will not ever forget what she was given. She will always hold the hope that she gave enough. Gave enough indeed

Happy Father's Day dad.

Survive Life In Minutes

Survive Life In Minutes.

It took a friend to turn my Blog name around to get me to see what I should have.

For some reason the Cosmos has decided to test my mettle and has been lobbing round after round of tough stuff my way. Contrary to what some think, I have never lead a charmed life to begin with. I have, however, been blessed with the ability to take things in stride. Weather the storm if you will. At least I thought so until recently.

Now the Cosmos wasn’t just sending things my way, sending me things to deal with. No…the Cosmos mostly took things away from me. Things I wanted, things I need. I think that’s what disturbs me most. How much I lost. How much I’m still losing.

Setting aside my only child notions of “this is mine!”, I still am reeling from just how much is gone. I’ve lost significantly in just about every area of my life. Work life, Family life, Personal life…you name it…something or someone is gone. Some of the loss is visible to others, some of it came from places only I know about. No matter the source…it’s gone and it hurts.

I can rebound, I can recover…I always do. What’s been the struggle is getting hit with so many things coming from so many directions...and seemingly all at once. I used a metaphor of ocean waves to describe how I feel. One can wade into the water and everything is just fine. Then a sudden wave hits and knocks you off balance. That’s fine because you recover, you get your legs under you and you are back to standing again. Then comes another wave, one you didn’t see approaching and this time it's water in your mouth, and you are wobbly but still able to stand. The next wave hits and wham…you’re down and choking. Halfway to standing you get hit again and this time you get knocked flat, skin raw as your knees scrape on the sand. Now you can’t see from the salt water sting in your eyes, you are disoriented and starting to feel a bit frightened. You know you have to get up because by now you know another wave is coming. As my friend said, “You'll have to crawl to the shore - as hard as that seems”.

As hard as that seems. And crawl I do…because I want to survive. I want to get up and get on with life. Live life as it should be lived. The way it should be lived.

As I choose to Live My Life In Minutes … so must I accept the stormy seas. I'll accept those stormy, raging and unforgiving seas, I'll accept them, I'll stand up to them and I'll survive them. One minute at a time.

Survive Life In Minutes.
Indeed.

I Say A Little Prayer....

My daughter's Bridal Shower was held a few weeks ago. I read a prayer before the meal. I spent quite a lot of time searching for one that would appropriately express the tone I was hoping for. No matter what prayer I looked at it just wasn't right.

The shower was for my daughter and I wanted the prayer to be personal. I wanted it to mean something. Then I decided to use one that was less emotional, easier for me to read in front of the gathering, and one that struck the right cord. Then I sat and wrote the one I wanted to, the one that I will give to her someday soon. One that came straight from my heart to hers.

It's my prayer for my lovely daughter.

Heavenly Father, we thank you for the blessing of family and friends who are here today in celebration of "their" upcoming wedding.

I thank You for not taking me that day, for allowing me to remain with her and be the mother I so wanted to be.

Be with them now as they prepare their hearts for the gift of marriage, and be with them always as they grow in their unconditional love and face the ups and downs of life together.

Life is so hard, so many obstacles get thrown at us, help them to reach for each other when things go wrong. Walk along beside them and gently nudge them back on the path when they go astray.
Protect them physically, mentally and spiritually. Help them to accept one another as they are and leave any changing that needs to be done in Your hands.

Help them to see, in each other, the things they can draw strength from, the safe place they can provide the other and the acceptance that only comes from pure love. Let them see in each other what they are rather than what they want the other to be.
Finally, in your time, please help them to offer the world a tangible symbol of their love and commitment.

Help them to remain absolutely silly in love, head over heels, full of infectious joy, such that others will feel when they are near.
We thank You, Lord, for this meal prepared today. We thank You for all of the wonderful women present, who took the time to be here with us today.

Let her see the successes, the fruits from the labor of commitment that some of these women grew in their own marriages. Let them be the example to her, proof that it can be done.
We thank You for giving us all joyful and happy hearts as two sets of families and friends come together to celebrate the new life they will begin together.

Let them draw support from us, let us always encourage them as a couple, as a unit, and not look at the other family as "them" but as "us". Help us to show the true meaning of strength in numbers and help us to stand with them when they need us.
We ask that you give us grateful hearts as well. Make us mindful of the needs of those who are without the love we are celebrating today.

Help us to show a positive example of love whether we have it ourselves or not. Help them to see that what they have in each other is a delicate treasure and to treat it as such. Help them to cling to what so many never catch a glimpse of and to hold tight when they hit the bumps that inevitably come through living in this world.
Help them to clearly see the road ahead as a journey to be traveled ... hand in hand. Help them to understand that when one stops the other is to reach back and not keep going until the other is ready. Help them to see that neither of them, alone, is perfect...but together, they can be perfection.
And finally, for my daughter, for this lovely young woman I cherish. Let her future husband see how special she is, let him see what he has in her, how she has added to his life and how she has made him the better man for loving him the way she does. Help him to let her inside and keep her there, close to his heart where she belongs. Where she deserves to be.

Help them to succeed where so many fail. Help them to keep trying no matter how hard, no matter how angry, no matter how much hurt has been inflicted. Help them to see that in You all things are possible.
AmenIndeed.

Grown Apart...

I received a lovely letter from a woman who was my best friend all through school. We met for the first time in the first grade in Sister Josita's classroom and have been friends ever since. She sent the most beautiful message last week, offering her condolences to me. It was a very personal message. One that touched me in a way that only a person who has known me practically my whole life could send.

We have not spoken in a very long time, have not seen each other as she only comes home once a year. "Maureen" lives all the way across the country from me and, with five children of her own, does not get to travel East very often. It's been a while.

While we live different lives now, while we don't know everything that is going on with the other, I still feel just as close to her as I did when I was a young girl. Maureen was a solid friend, dependable, and the kind of friend you want around because she says it like it is. I love that about her.

We spent hours and hours either in her room, or in mine, laying around and sharing heartbreaks, nervousness, teenage angst. We talked about what we were afraid of and what we wished for. We talked about things we were unsure of, things we feared and things we loved. We grew up together.

She had a family I always wished I was part of. Her five brothers were overwhelming to an only child, but I enjoyed their brotherly attention when I got it. I longed for a sibling growing up and they fulfilled that role for me occasionally. When Maureen and I were together they tormented and teased us within an inch of our lives. They chased us and plotted to spoil our fun every chance they got. We loved every blessed minute of it.

After I read her letter I recalled one especially fun summer we had in particular. We discovered boys...or rather discovered we were interested in them. We set out to attract one boy in particular and schemed to find ways to run into him around the neighborhood. We primped and preened and practiced smiles and walks all for a boy who, as I recall, didn't know we even existed. Finally we set up a lemonade stand hoping to entice the attentions of this legendary neighborhood heartthrob who was named "Freddie". We crashed and burned...he never even walked past us.

Many, many years later Freddie would have a hand in my husband and I meeting each other. In fact if not for Freddie my husband and I may never have met in the first place. The night I met my husband I was to have met Freddie. All of these years later he finally realized that I indeed existed and wanted very much to see me. Through a series of miscues he was unable to meet me that night. Later, when I discovered why he wasn't there, it didn't matter. I met my husband to be. The rest is history.

This particular memory always makes me think of Maureen and our friendship. This week, more than ever, I wish I could just ride my bike a block down the street and ring her doorbell. It makes me wish we could go up to her room and lay on the yellow carpet that was next to her bed and stare up at the ceiling while we talked. It makes me wish she was here so I could tell her some things, things that have happened, things I wish for, things I'm afraid of and things I love. Things that have happened since we grew up and grew apart.

Grew up.
Indeed.

For My Life To Come

I lost my dad this week.

After a long and difficult illness, one that was so hard to watch him deal with, we had to say goodbye.

I will never, for my life to come, forget what that morning was like or how it unfolded. We were called to the hospital as dad had taken a turn for the worse. He was unresponsive, and sadly, never regained consciousness. After several discussions with the nurses and his doctor, it was apparent that his life was winding down and his release was imminent. A priest was called to administer The Last Rites and my youngest child was brought from school to be with us.

Sitting there, watching each labored breath he drew, my mind was all over the place. I worried about my children and how they were handling this. I worried about my husband who was so uncharacteristically weeping openly. I worried about my mother who seemed so childlike and lost and unsure of what was happening. I worried that dad might be feeling some distress as well. I worried about how I would react when the time came and would I hold up as he would want.

With my mom holding one of his hands and me the other, with my husband and children holding each other and dad's legs, I was so fully aware of how special this moment was and would be for us all. Dad was not alone. As the last moments in his life were passing, he was surrounded by everything he loved in life. All of the pain was gone and he had us all there .. just the way he loved, together. As the time ticked by, each of us praying, each of us trying to hang on to something for later, each of us settling what was in our hearts with this man we cared for so deeply. They were the most beautiful and frightening moments I have ever experienced. Beautiful in their simplicity and frightening in their brevity. Moments that I will never let go of.

As his breathing slowed, as the sound quieted, I focused on his face. I don't quite know what I was looking for but I looked at him this way until he took his last breath. His face, amazingly, showed nothing but peace. The peace in which he will sleep forever.

It occurs to me that my dad died a very rich man. His pride and joy was his family. His grandchildren, young adults that they are, gave him riches beyond any he imagined. They filled him with joy. They filled him with pride and they were as crazy about him as he was them. He lived for them and they know it.

As for me, in my own way I added to those riches. All this week I thought of the ways I had made him proud and the joy I had given him. I thought of funny, silly things that make families what they are. The inside jokes, the laughter and humor that was a constant in our lives. Even in pain, even while failing he wanted that laughter. I like to think it made his time easier, made his discomfort less so. For in that laughter was love expressed. In that laughter was the familiar affection of a father and a daughter. In that laughter was the tie that bound us to each other. The tie that will remain for my life to come.

Indeed.

Keep Your Pants On

I was at the Orthodontist Office with my son this week when I saw a TV blurb about Rielle Hunter's spread in GQ magazine. If ever the term spread was applicable it was in this case.

Ms Hunter, to those who don’t know already, is the infamous ex mistress of John Edwards. John Edwards, who claimed he didn’t, then decided that he indeed did, father her out-of-wedlock child. John Edwards, who was in the midst of a presidential nomination run when he decided to diddle with Rielle, while his trusty campaign aide ran interference, all while she was a "campaign videographer" on the payroll.

Rielle seems to have a knack for dropping trou, repeatedly. She admits she dropped them within a few hours of meeting Edwards. Dropped them a bunch of times during their affair. She even dropped them for a private video session with John, preserving for posterity her proclivity to show her posterior. That video was ordered to be turned over to the Superior Court of North Carolina pending some eventual litigation, thankfully.

The most recent dropping is the one that gets me. She’s a grown up, she can drop her drawers wherever she pleases. If she pleases to drop them with a married father of three, whose wife is battling terminal cancer, who was seeking the nomination of the presidency of the US, that’s her business. What gets me is the spread in GQ.

Rielle can loosely be called a member of the media based on her work as a videographer. She can also be loosely called an actress for having appeared briefly in the movie, Overboard under the name Lisa Hunter. (she became “Rielle” sometime in 1994) I can loosely call her foolish based on her behavior both before the exposure of the affair with Edwards and after her child’s birth came to light. The GQ spread being the most foolish.

I can understand wanting to tell her side of the story. I can understand her need to rehabilitate her reputation and improve the public’s perception of her. Although I’m not quite sure what her target audience was in choosing GQ. GQ’s readership can hardly be thought to be a group that would condemn this striking woman... especially knowing there’s a sex tape out there. She’s intriguing and almost fodder for fantasy. I don’t think the readership at GQ cares if she “really is a good person” or not.

Now that the spread is out there on newsstands everywhere, and the folks are less than enamored with Rielle, she’s chosen to come out to the public as “upset” and “angered” at the photos GQ used. The photos of Rielle once again dropping trou. The photos of her looking rather "come hither" sans a pair of pants. The photos she knowingly and willingly posed for.

Hey Rielle….when you walked into the shoot and saw the bed…that was your first clue as to the intentions of the magazine. When they said, “here, take off your pants and wear this white man’s shirt and pearls…oh and unbutton the top three buttons”, you should have made haste for the door. It didn’t matter how respected you thought the photographer was, GQ was calling the shots here. Once the lens of the camera captures your image you no longer control it. Surely you must have known that being a "campaign videographer" and all. Right?

If your reputation wasn’t already in shambles when you walked in to the shoot, dropping your pants during it clinched it for you. Next time try and get a magazine like Vanity Fair to talk to you. Wear something befitting a woman who wants to be taken seriously. And while you’re at it apologize to Elizabeth Edwards. If you think you are upset at those “oops I dropped my pants” shots….imagine how she feels about them.

Better yet...borrow a page or two from Elizabeth's playbook and learn how a woman conducts herself in public.

Indeed.

"Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It's a very mean and nasty place and I don't care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't about how hard ya hit. It's about how hard you can get it and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done! Now if you know what you're worth then go out and get what you're worth. But ya gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers saying you ain't where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody! Cowards do that and that ain't you!"

-

I love this speech. It’s from Rocky Balboa, the latest , and likely the last, of the Rocky films. Written by Sylvester Stallone, it's my favorite of all of the Rocky films I have enjoyed over the years. In this scene Rocky is attempting to impart some “school of hard knocks” wisdom to his son. For as rough and unsophisticated as Rocky Balboa appears, I felt the speech was worthy in comparison to some Shakespearean soliloquies.

I take from it some words of wisdom for myself. The heart of what he is saying speaks to me at this moment in my life. The world is mean, it is nasty. It’s also cruel. I have been trying to find my balance for having been buffeted and pummeled on several fronts for some time now. Some days I wonder what else can happen, what else I can get hit with. It’s exhausting and can defeat me if let it.

I had a conversation with my longtime best girlfriend today, a woman who has been similarly pummeled as of late. We shared what things have gone amiss since we last spoke and spoke of just how much we have handled in our lives. We have few secrets from each other and it is in that knowledge, of what each of us has lived, that binds us so closely.

She asked me if I ever wonder how much I could take before I snap. I asked her the same right back. It seems we both can take quite a lot. We both can and will take much more. I know this because we both keep moving, moving forward, moving ahead. I also know that when one of us slips behind, the other reaches back and pulls the other forward. Neither of us will let the other fall back, neither of us will let the other fall. We'll make sure we are both on our feet and moving. Later, when we look back, look at how far we've come, we will revel in the fact that we did it together.

“…it's about how hard you can get it and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done!”

As Rocky says at the end of Rocky Balboa…..Yo Adrian, we did it!

We did it!
Indeed.

My Own Blonde Moments....

Blonde jokes get on my nerves, I simply cannot abide them. What can possibly be funny about a lame and witless joke that diminishes, demeans, ridicules, belittles and insults a woman, who by nature of genetic disposition ( or who just wants to be pretty), is fair haired?

I just don't get it. The blonde is always, pretty, beautiful even, thin, long haired and wide eyed in these jokes. She's never homely, heavy set or cross-eyed. The joke always has this blonde bumbling along hapless and clueless. I find it curious that these jokes are directed toward a sort of ideal, a standard of beauty for many and they serve no other purpose than to tear this ideal down while laughing at her. I find that particularly interesting as it smacks of something very high-schoolish. It's as if someone who has been blessed with fair hair and beauty can't possibly possess intellect and sizable gray matter on top of it. The inference being she's a pretty blonde and that's all she gets from the genetic gods. She can't be blonde, beautiful and have brains. A notion I continually refute as I have given birth to one such wondrous creature.

I am a feminist at heart. I will always stop a person when they try and tell a blonde joke to me. When I hear a woman say, "I'm having a blonde moment"...I set her straight post haste . I'm having none of it. I will not propagate the stereotype. Women (and men) behave stupidly on a daily basis and it has nothing to do with hair color, natural or otherwise. Case in point...pick a Kardasian...it really doesn't matter which one, any of them will do. Better yet how about a professional athlete who brought his gun into a locker room or better yet a football player who shot himself in the leg walking up to the VIP room in a club? Let's not forget a certain southern Governor who told aides he was hiking the Appalachian Trail when in reality he was flying, commercial, to spend time with his paramour. Hapless? Bumbling? I'd say. It has nothing to do with hair color and everything to do with plain old stupidity itself. It comes in all shapes, sizes and colors..

This week I was present for a blonde joke telling. Not just one mind you. After the first was told friends casually mentioned that it wasn't a great idea to tell one around me. Not to be deterred, this precious jokester (who I am very fond of) proceeded to tell two more. Adding insult to...well insult.

Now some might say to me...be a good sport. Laugh with everyone, lighten up...it's just a joke. I'm not buying that. I am a good sport and it's not just a joke. Anytime a person, anytime a man, tells a joke that diminishes a woman, depicts her as inferior, demeans her as less than, it isn't just a joke. Telling the joke to me personally, telling more after you know I dislike them, hurts me. It tells me the joke teller has no respect for me, the joke teller thinks so little of me that he enjoys the insult enough to keep it going. I am not going to be smiling at someone as they insult me, as they tell me that I am stupid and then laugh about it with those nearby. I'm simply not standing for it....nor should any one else.

Truthfully, the only dumb blondes that exist are the ones who stand by and listen to these jokes without saying a word. The ones that tell them are just as clueless.

Indeed

The View From Halfway

I had a conversation recently, at a luncheon with friends, about reaching that place in life where you realize that you have gained a certain amount of wisdom. I'd say I am well past the half-way point in my life as I don't expect to live beyond 100 years. In the 50 odd years I have been on this earth, I have learned a thing or two about life. While my kids often roll their eyes when I wax philosophical (I let them think I don't see them), I know a few things.

As I started to tick off some of the things I learned, my friends said, "you should write these down!"....

So I did....


People can still surprise you.

Old dogs can learn new tricks and the tricks are far more interesting at this point.

Forever means different things to different people.

Don’t worry about the skinny little thing on the elliptical next to you at the gym. You were once her, she will one day be you. It’s a sort of symmetry.

Start being yourself. Don’t you think it’s time?

Don’t look back at memories. Be the memory for someone by what you do now.

Fall in love if you get a chance…. it’s so much better when you are older. Without the drama and the hair trigger from the teenage years, it could be a lot of fun.

Say what you think at all times. Miss Congeniality is over-rated. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t win the contest now did she?

Save yourself. The white night is not coming for you, his armor is rusty by now, his trusted steed has long been shipped off to the glue factory.

If you don’t have a good, close friend to share life’s ups and downs…you yourself aren’t a good friend.

Don’t be the reason someone leaves you. Be the reason they were a complete idiot for not staying.

You can have adventures without ever leaving the house.

Be selfish now. The other way hasn't worked so far has it?

The Desiderata makes perfect sense at this age. Hang it back up…. today.

“I am too old” is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Stop asking why. No one is going to answer you.

Don’t take a leap of faith unless you are sure you can survive the fall.

Have a care with what you give. Be generous with those who deserve you, and stingy with those who don’t.

Bucket list shmuket list. What on earth are you waiting for?

Be Careful What You Wish For....

When I was a little girl, and being particularly pouty or sour, my mother would take issue with some of the facial expressions I would adopt. As a way to break this habit she would say, "if you make that face for too long...it will freeze that way." Certainly not a page taken from Dr Spock, it worked just the same. Once I imagined myself sitting at my desk in class, walking down the block, going to Mass looking as if I'd sucked a lemon for an hour, I lightened up on the scowling.

My mother's methods, while unorthodox, got the job done. She had all sorts of expressions, half-proverb, half-threat, to keep me in line. Pride goeth before a fall was regularly recited. Do unto others....Take the high road....Look before you leap were some others. I heard them every day. I can still hear them now...in my head.

The one that stayed with me the most was ...Be careful what you wish for. It's negativity is what strikes me. As if the things I might wish for would be a disappointment. As if I didn't understand what things I wished for. As if having what I wished for would not be in my best interests. My mother did not mean for the message to limit me, lower my expectations. What she meant was for me to think through the things I wanted out of life. To make sure that I understood what getting some wishes would mean for me.

Still, over the years, I have found that notion to creep into my mind, usually after something went awry. After something I wanted was realized. A promotion that cost more in family time than I had imagined. A friend I needed distance from who left me completely. Wishing to be closer to another friend only to discover that the closeness choked me. Wishing to be left alone only to find what loneliness really is. Sometimes I wondered if the Cosmos were trying to tell me something. The same thing my mother tried to tell me in her own way.

The thing is....life is full of serendipity. Unexpected and accidental delights that balance what goes awry. Things that I never imagined would come to me have done so and in the most unexpected ways. Good things, things I want, things I need. Things that far exceeded anything I could have wished for.

So I keep on wishing, keep on reaching for stars. Mortal soul that I am, I keep my wishes rooted in simplicity. I know exactly what it is that I want. I am fully aware of what I might get as well. For it is in my wishing that I put a voice to my heart's desires. A voice that is deliberate, clear and full of well deserved expectation.

I am careful what I wish for.
Because I know exactly what I might get.
Thank Heaven for that.
Indeed.

Somebody To Love

Somebody to Love is a wonderfully complicated song, written in 1975 by Freddy Mercury, and recorded by Queen. It's one of my favorite songs from the band. The lyric covers a great question many ask...and it asks it of God. Perfect for Valentine's Day I think..

Valentine's Day forces the issue of love, forces us to look at love in our lives and sometimes does so with a sort of uncomfortable pressure to root out and point at what may be missing.

Over the years I have had some Valentine's Days that were picture perfect, some that were sad truths. Others were unremarkable and some remarkable in their existence. They are what they are. When I was much younger I recall feeling inadequate should a Valentine's Day arrive with me not having a boyfriend to fuss over me. I can also recall feeling terribly conflicted for having been the object of affection for someone I had no feeling for at all.

I recall years that despite being married and having a "built in sweetheart", I wanted to skip the day altogether and not have to acknowledge the fact that other women would be having a much better day than I. I have also spent many February 14ths, drifting off to sleep, thankful for my husband and what we have in life.

On all of these occasions, all throughout my life, I have had one constant ....a wonderful capacity for love and a desire to express mine. Unabashed, unapologetic and unwavering. Nothing stops it, nothing prevents it, nothing gets in it's way. I will love regardless.

It doesn't matter in the least if I am showered with affection, nor does it matter if the day passes without an ounce of it directed toward me. That is not to say I don't want reciprocation, that is not to say I don't need it because I do need it. I need it more than I can sometimes express. What does matter, however, is that I can give and will give my own affection and love, sincerely and truthfully, independent of what may be expressed to me. I consider this a remarkable blessing.

I have never, in my life, not had somebody to love. For that I am most thankful.
Most thankful Indeed.

Happy Valentine's Day.